Foundation And Chaos (15 page)

“Now it be col' poverty, na ships, na work. I am har day in and ou' for my wi' and
amusemen', na more tha' tha'!”

She did not seem especially resentful, merely stating facts,

yet her words rankled. There were worlds in the stellar neighborhood where the accent of
Madder Loss was considered comic, used by entertainers portraying simpletons or
charlatans. Tritch herself had referred to Madder Loss as a planet of parasites. Few from
outside came here anymore; few knew what had really happened.

Yet now, within this recorder, there might be proof of something extraordinary, a clue to
the larger picture. His memory since yesterday seemed murky and full of gaps. He did not
even know why he had brought the recorder-he had done nothing important since taking
Lodovik Trema's body to the transfer terminal and handing it over to Imperial agents. And
why this ride into the country-just to relive old, sometimes painful memories?

“We'ra here. Ya shou stay longer; there are still beautiful sigh's i' the countr', lovely
hostels whar to stay. ” Her voice became sly, a little wheedling. “I coul' show ya places
o' beautiful wimma, nat'ral farm garls, all verra poor an' lone. ”

“No, thank you, ” Planch said, though he was tempted. His last love had been a native of
Madder Loss, thirty years before. He had had no taste for others since, yet he felt a
hollow ache at the thought of leaving the planet without trying for another romance. He
was somehow convinced that to stay, however, could be very dangerous.

He paid the woman and thanked her in her own accent, then stood beneath the huge balloon
roof of the immigration and transfer authority area. The blue skies and distant fields
showed through gaps where buildings had been torn down and not replaced.

He found a cool, secluded spot next to an empty restaurant and sat on a bench, holding the
recorder display up to see how much it had captured.

Five hours.

For a few seconds, he simply sat and tapped the recorder against his chin, eyes
heavy-lidded. Then, brows drawing in,

fingers white where they gripped the tiny tube, he said, “Code: unforgivable. This is
Planch, log in personal. Play back, all. ”

The candidates for the Second Foundation did not meet in secret. Instead, they shared a
plausible cover: they were a social club, interested in the history of certain games of
chance, little different from other hobbyists around Trantor. Hobbies swept the planet
with boring regularity, and even after their times had passed, small groups of adherents
remained loyal.

The mentalic candidates who could form part of the proposed Star's End settlement met,
with official approval, twice a week, in a social hall in one of the less fancy
dormitories on the outskirts of Streeling University. In these run-down facilities, they
were ignored by students who had come to Trantor from some of the less privileged worlds.

The hall was not equipped with listening devices; Wanda herself had persuaded a caretaker
to tell her of the older buildings whose bugs were either inactive or had been removed.

Wanda stood beside her husband, Stettin Palver, in the crowded hall and waited for the 103
candidates to settle in to their seats. The sergeant-at-arms closed and locked the doors,
and three sensitives stood watch to make sure they were not eavesdropped upon.

In this core group of mentalics-the only one Wanda knew of, perhaps the only one there had
ever been-there was little need for calls to order or other formal, spoken signals; the
group tended to come to order with little overt fuss. She thought ruefully that this had
nothing to do with politeness. There had been a large number of fractious outbreaks in the
community since the beginning, but disorder manifested itself in different ways with her
people.

Stettin raised his hand. The group had already fallen quiet. They all faced front with
deceptively placid expressions. Men-talks seldom exhibited their true emotions, certainly
not in the presence of their peers.

Wanda felt little ripples of uncontrolled persuasion; they made her neck itch. She could
pick out a few distinct strands in the welter, like smells from a rich stew: currents of
social and sexual tension, focused concern, even uncoordinated attempts to override
Stettin's dominance. In mentalics, not just the conscious mind exerted its persuasive
effects. My people, she thought. Heaven save me from my people!

“We need the reports from our recruitment cells, ” Stettin said quietly. “Next, I'll give
my report on mathematical and psychological training-to bring our candidates up to speed
with the other groups preparing for the mission-then we'll discuss the attrition. ”

“We need to discuss the murders now!” said a young woman historian with thick black hair
cut in a wide bowl. Her green eyes blazed at Stettin and Wanda.

Wanda deflected the woman's automatic whip of persuasion. Her neck itched fiercely.

The woman continued, voice calm but inner emotions raging. “Every recruit for the last
three months-”

“There's a traitor among us!” interrupted a man from the back.

Stettin pressed his lips together grimly and held up his hand again. “We know who the
so-called traitor is, ” he said softly. “Her name is Vara Liso. ”

The crowd instantly quieted. Wanda observed the waves of turmoil and calm with an intense
but somehow distant interest. This is how we are. Grandfather chose us because we are this
way-didn't he?

“Perhaps we know her name, now, ” the young historian said. “But what good does that do
us? She is stronger than any of us here. ” She could barely be heard.

“No one can persuade her, ” said another voice, Wanda could not tell where in the crowd.
“She smells us out like a tracker!” “We must assassinate her-” “Persuade somebody to kill
her!” “Someone who is expendable-”

Stettin waited for the suggestions to stop. Again, the crowd became unnaturally quiet.
Even the ripples of persuasion seemed to still. All their lives, these people had used
their talents to make their way in life. Finally, they were among their own kind, among
equals, and their “luck” was distressingly ineffectual here.

“Wanda has asked Professor Seldon for help, ” Stettin said. “And he has gone to the
Emperor himself... but we do not yet know the outcome of his visit. We should plan for the
possibility of failure. We may have to do something we've only tried once before. ”

“What?” several asked.

“A massed effort. Wanda and I once unwittingly pooled our talents, with some success...
But only against a normal. ” A judge, Wanda remembered. When Grandfather got in trouble
with young toughs.

“I think it is possible that ten or twenty of us, trained to operate in unison, may be
effective against this woman. ” The crowd of candidates absorbed this for a few seconds.
“To kill her?” the black-haired historian asked. “That may not be necessary, ” Wanda said.
She and Stettin had argued this through early in the evening, with some heat. Stettin had
maintained that killing Vara Liso was the only safe option. Wanda had maintained with
equal force that murder could enervate their cause, drive them one against the other. The
balance of so many persuaders was already delicate.

Even her own marriage was fraught with difficulties. Two persuaders, placed in proximity
for years, intimate for hours on end, could find many unique ways to irritate and stymie
each other.

“I will not kill another human being, much less one of my own kind, ” the young historian
said firmly, eyes brimming with emotion at her own idealism. “No matter how much we may be
endangered. ”

Stettin set his jaw. “That would be a last resort. We must begin training volunteers for
such an effort. I have a list of those whose work puts them in places where they might
encounter Liso... ”

Wanda listened as Stettin read out the names. The named stepped forward like guilty
children, and Stettin took them to a separate room.

“The rest of us have other matters to discuss, ” Wanda said, hoping to distract the
remainder. “There are more travel questions to be answered-health questions, family and
financial situations to be tied up, and, of course, training in the Seldon disciplines-”

The group calmed and focused on these matters with some relief, glad to be done with the
problem of Liso, for the time being. Eager to look the other way.

They were all like children, Wanda thought, every one of them, and the group as a whole:
no better than awkward adolescents, stumbling along through life with powers they have
only now recognized, for the first time fully aware of weaknesses they have never had to
confront before.

Weaknesses hidden by persuasion.

We are all cripples! She kept her face calm, but her insides churned at the coming
conflicts, so many and so dangerous. How could Hari have chosen such a strange and
disorganized group to safeguard all of human history!

Sometimes, Wanda felt as if she were wandering through a dream. Not even Stettin could
reassure her at those times, and she was close to despair.

Of course, she never confessed that to Hari.